“Let me see that cut on your head,” she said. She dropped on her knee and parted the hair with a gentle touch.
“Why, you’re real!” breathed the injured near-centaur, beaming with wonder and gratification.
She sat down limply and gave way to wild laughter.
“So are you!” she retorted. “Why, that is exactly what I was thinking! I thought maybe I was asleep and having an extraordinary dream. That wound on your head is not serious, if that’s all.” She brushed back a wisp of hair that blew across her eyes.
“I hurt this head just the other day,” observed the bedraggled victim, as one who has an assortment of heads from which to choose. He pulled off his soaked gloves and regarded them ruefully. “‘Them that go down to deep waters!’ That was a regular triumph of matter over mind, wasn’t it?”
“It’s a wonder you’re alive! My! How frightened I was! Aren’t you hurt—truly? Ribs or anything?”
The patient’s elbows made a convulsive movement to guard the threatened ribs.
“Oh, no, ma’am. I ain’t hurt a bit—indeed I ain’t,” he said truthfully; but his eyes had the languid droop of one who says the thing that is not. “Don’t you worry none about me—not one bit. Sorry I frightened you. That black horse now——” He stopped to consider fully the case of the black horse. “Well, you see, ma’am, that black horse, he ain’t exactly right plumb gentle.” His eyelids drooped again.
The girl considered. She believed him—both that he was not badly hurt and that the black horse was not exactly gentle. And her suspicions were aroused. His slow drawl was getting slower; his cowboyese broader—a mode of speech quite inconsistent with that first sprightly remark about the little eohippus. What manner of cowboy was this, from whose tongue a learned scientific term tripped spontaneously in so stressful a moment—who quoted scraps of the litany unaware? Also, her own eyes were none of the slowest. She had noted that the limping did not begin until he was clear of the pool. Still, that might happen if one were excited; but this one had been singularly calm, “more than usual ca’m,” she mentally quoted.... Of course, if he really were badly hurt—which she didn’t believe one bit—a little bruised and jarred, maybe—the only thing for her to do would be to go back to camp and get help.... That meant the renewal of Lake’s hateful attentions and—for the other girls, the sharing of her find.... She stole another look at her find and thrilled with all the pride of the discoverer.... No doubt he was shaken and bruised, after all. He must be suffering. What a splendid rider he was!
“What made you so absurd? Why didn’t you get out of the water, then, if you are not hurt?” she snapped suddenly.